Rift
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: I had half a mind to throw your letter in the fire and let you wait another few months. After, I told myself, he has waited thirty-four years. Surely he can wait a little more. Fingon and Maglor correspond as Maedhros heals. Warnings for descriptions of torture and mentions of rape.


Ugh, this took forever to format. Well, between Nanowrimo and the Comp I'm in, I've had very little time to write my own stuff, but I finally carved out some time and wrote this! I hope you like it. Warnings for descriptions of torture and and rape.

* * *

Macalaurë son of Fëanáro to Findekáno son of Nolofinwë, greeting; Illúvatar keep you and may no shadow fall upon you.

We have received your messengers with no small amount of wonder and joy. You will be getting an official message for your father along with this, one that is highly diplomatic and politely thanks you for your heroic deed.

It's not enough. You have done something I have spent thirty years unable to do, and you did it alone. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, and from my brothers' too, for they will find it hard to thank you properly. Thank you.

Please. Please, Findekáno, tell me how he is. I know he cannot travel, I know it, but I am longing to know how he is, how he fares. I have betrayed you, broken a bond of trust we may well never be able to repair, but please, tell me how he is.

If it pleases you, insult me with every other word, tell me I am worthless and craven, but also tell me how my brother is. I have spent every day of the last thirty-four years without knowing, and I fear I cannot stand another day. Tear me apart with your words and your swords, but grant me this, I beg you.

I do not say these words lightly. I do not know when I will see Maitimo again. I do not know if he will ever forgive me. Maybe he shouldn't. And so, I beg this of you.

May Illúvator be with you.

* * *

Findekáno son of Nolofinwë to Macalaurë son of Fëanáro, greeting; Illúvatar keep you and may no shadow fall upon you.

I had half a mind to throw your letter in the fire and let you wait another few months. After all, I told myself, he has waited thirty-four years. Surely he can wait a little more.

But that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be kind, either, and although I have no business being kind in this war, here I am, writing to you. I am talking to you, not as King or King Regent or whatever you call yourself now, but as the brother to one who is dear to me.

I will try restrain myself from the insults for the time being. I may change my mind later, when winter gets going and we are cold again. But for now I am feeling generous, and I know that when Maitimo wakes, he will ask of you.

And there it is. He has not woken yet, although it has been several days. I suppose you want the truth; after all, you begged for news of him, and telling you false would put all that to waste. It was tempting, but Russandol would never forgive me, so here I am, writing this letter.

The healers say he is out of danger, but I worry. He is so thin, nothing but bones stretched tight over broken skin. His hand may be the largest maiming, but it is not the only one. So much of him is different that I did not recognize him but for his mane of red hair, which is gone now, too matted and damaged to save.

I worry for when he wakes.

* * *

Findekáno

Macalaurë son of Fëanáro to Findekáno son of Nolofinwë, greeting; Illúvatar keep you and may no shadow fall upon you.

Your words do not assuage my fears, but I am grateful for them nonetheless. Thank you. Thank you for being the better of us. Only you must not tell my brothers I said that, for they would have a fit you could see from all the way across the lake.

I hope by the time this reaches you, he has woken. Do not tell him to hate me too strongly. At the time I thought I was doing what was right for our people.

May Illúvator be with you.

* * *

Macalaurë,

Do not tell me what you thought was right, and do not expect me to relay words for you. I am not your messenger, and I am writing you out of the decency of my heart, even as every word pains me.

He has woken. He is very weak, and has horrible nightmares. He often screams in his sleep so loud he wakes half the camp, and many whisper that he is feigning it. You'd only have to look at his eyes to see otherwise. I have never seen so much fear in one living being.

This letter is short, and tells you little, but I am tired and have hunting to do.

Findekáno

* * *

Macalaurë son of Fëanáro to Findekáno son of Nolofinwë, greeting; Illúvatar keep you and may no shadow fall upon you.

I have humbled myself to you once, but it seems it was not enough. You claim to tell me of him, but you have not done so. I know he is alive and he is sickly, but I could have guessed that. Please, if you do not detest me too much, go into detail. I wish to know of every scar on my brother's body, to understand what my years of failure did.

I am sorry for being an inconvenience. I am sorry for my sins, which, if I were trying to please you, I would list on forever. I do not have the time nor patience for that. I know you do not like me. I understand that. But please, grant me this.

May Illúvator be with you.

* * *

Macalaurë,

You will see your brother soon enough, and I mislike the way you assume that I want to spend hours of my time detailing the hurt I see in Russandol's body. And yet, here I am, still writing. Maybe I am to blame for falling prey to your groveling so quickly. Can you fault me? It comes from the house of Fëanáro so rarely.

I said I would refrain from insults, and I am not keeping good on that. I am sorry. I can understand your longing to see your brother, and it is that knowledge that brings me to write what I am about to write.

You asked me to detail every scar. I cannot. This is because there are too many to count, layer after layer, the newest raw and bleeding while the oldest fester. His back is the worst, covered by a layer of scars so thick it add an inch to his skin. One scar that does stand out, however, is the brand in his chest. You will know it when you see it; it is your father's heraldry.

His legs were broken when I found him, and it will be months before he can stand, let alone walk. His bones jut out from his body like a skeleton, his remaining fingers bony and spindly where they used to be long and elegant.

He will never be the handsome Elf he once was, not a thousand years from now. He may look regal and stately, or be upheld as a paradigm of warrior strength, but no one will laud him for his looks on their own. His cheekbones, once so noble (I say this in jest, for that is what I overheard many of his suitors say), stick out now, making his face appear more drawn than it is, not an easy feat.

He has a scar on his face one of the healers think was from an errant lash, catching him across the cheek instead of on the chest. Whatever it was, it is long and goes form his left jaw to his right eyebrow, splitting his face in two. He has not seen it. He refuses to look in a mirror. He has not said much, but sleeps often and broods almost as much as he is awake. What horror he is seeing, I do not know.

His nose has been broken many times, so instead of straight and pretty as you are used to it is crooked. He is missing some of his back teeth, and his ears have been cut. My guess is to demoralize him, although I do worry for his hearing. All of these are maimings less severe than the one I caused.

He is so tall, Macalaurë. It was easy to lose sight of that before; he was always bent down to talk to someone, or to hold hands with a little one. But without that light his height is so awkwardly, painfully apparent. Before darkness came, he was the kindest of all of us. I know your father derided him for it. Do not deny it. I can only hope that some of that kindness is still left, for I fear that all that's left in him is hard and cold.

I hope I am wrong.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

Thank you. Thank you for your honesty, and for your bravery.

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

He has realized where he is, and is better for it. He is happy, in a strange way. He smiles at the simplest things, the way the light catches on the trees outside his window, the sound of rain. It has been a long time since he's been able to enjoy the world around him. I have gathered that before he was hung on the mountain, they kept him chained in a dungeon deep inside Thangorodrim.

He can speak of it more than you'd think. More, in a way, than we can. It is easier for him to remember that time then our childhood, which he has admitted is mostly lost to him, as it our adulthood among the Trees. I can only hope it comes back to him in time.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

I hope for the same. It pains me to think that he hardly remembers us or the life we lived. We did, after all, love each other very much, and he raised us as much as our parents did. Centuries lost in thirty years, and all my fault.

I gets harder each day, knowing what I have wrought upon him. I left him there, and now they've robbed him of his beauty and his memory. I can only pray that it has not robbed him of his spirit as well.

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

I cannot believe I am saying this, but do not blame yourself so harshly. I do not agree with your choices, as is obvious by my actions, but I can understand them. Blame yourself some, for blame falls on you a little, but it is not you who held the whip or the controlled the flames that caused our dear Russandol his pain.

He is still confined to bed, which irks him greatly. He is restless, understandable, but as his legs are in casts there is not much I can do for him. I visit him every day, hours at a time if my duties allow for it, and he appreciates it, even when he is in a bad mood, which is often.

Being stuck in bed has caused him to do nothing but sit and think, which not only bores him but forces him to dwell on his torment. His nightmares happen almost every night, and his screams wake up those in nearby homes. People in our camp...they think he is faking his terror to gain sympathy, which is the farthest from truth there is. I can't blame them too harshly, though. We have been through a lot of pain because of your people.

When I look at him, I see Alqualondë. I wonder how he felt as he torched the ships. I look at him now and wonder how much of it he remembers. I cannot help but hate him a little for it. I saved him, even after he betrayed us. Me.

You are probably annoyed and embarrassed about that little rant back there, but there's no use marking it out. You'll hear the hate from my brothers, sister, and cousins soon enough.

Findekáno

* * *

He did not burn the ships.

Macalaurë

* * *

You could not have told me this before?

Findekáno

* * *

I thought you knew!

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

I did not know! Sweet Eru, you do not know what you've done to me, cousin. At first I thought it had to be some sort of awful jest. But I mentioned it to Russandol, and not only did he remember it as you said, he could tell me details. Or at least he could before he started crying. He does that a lot now, but only with me.

He didn't sound like he was lying. The pain in his voice as he spoke of your father...he must have been horribly angry.

In the long run it didn't change anything, but still, I'm glad to know he did not forget us.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

None of us forgot about you. We just pretended we had.

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

Comforting, but it doesn't lessen the pain of the Crossing. Let's drop this subject for now, shall we? I don't think you want our letters to lose their original purpose; me telling you your brother's every movement.

He is trying to write now, by the way. It give him something to do, although he hates it. He think his handwriting is too clumsy and childish, which is true. Don't ever tell him, but I think it's cute.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

Dropping that subject is a good idea. Leave it the necessary apologies and reparations for later, shall we? And do not doubt that we will make them when the time comes.

I promise not to tell him that you think him cute! The him of old would laugh, but I am not sure about this new one. He was entirely too serious when we came to Beleriand, and I doubt that will change. The Maitimo of jokes and pleasant company is gone, I fear.

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

Oh, are you saying you don't believe our poor Russandol is pleasant company? Poor thing. I'll have to tell him you said so!

He is, at times. Sometimes pieces of his old self shine through. His dominant mood is seriousness though. He is much more somber now, although there is always genuine joy when he smiles. He has been through too much now for him to be light-hearted, I'm afraid. We cannot ask that of him.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

You are right, of course. I was only being pointlessly wistful. I am glad that he's doing well enough to smile. Any news on when he may come home?

Macalaurë

* * *

Cousin,

I do not know what he will be fit to travel.

I have a heavy heart now, and thinking of such things does not improve my mood. I have made is clear to Russandol that he can-and should- confide in me when he needs to. He had not taken me up on that offer until earlier today, and I am still reeling.

I stayed composed while I was with him, thank Eru. I cannot imagine the consequences if I had not.

I cannot tell you what he told me, I fear, for it would be a grave betrayal of trust. That makes it hard for you to understand my thoughts, but please try. As much as I dislike it being you, you are the only one who may understand what I am feeling.

They did things to your brother, Macalaurë. Things which are too horrible to say, even if I could. Moringotto defiled him in a way that I did not realize existed, for it is that alien to the Eldar. Now that I know of it, my world is a darker place. I am distressed, and I know that your reply will not arrive in time to soothe me, but I must confide, in a way, to someone, lest my insides tear themselves open.

The pain he went through...what they did to him, even as they whipped and burned and tortured him...That Maitimo is still strong, still living, despite what they have done to him, is astounding and stands as a testament to his amazing strength. I respect him and love him all the more, although I think he fears I may reject him for my knowledge.

I wish I could tell you. And yet I am glad I cannot, for it means you will not live with the knowledge I do.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

My cousin, I am afraid to say that I have surmised what has been done to Russandol you gave yourself away with the 'alien to Eldar' part- only one thing is truly alien to us, only one act is so horrible that out fëa flee our bodies when it happens. At least, they usually do. I do not know whether it is Maitimo's strength or some dark machination of Moringotto's that prevented his from doing so.

You may wonder how I am so well versed in this terrible subject, but remember; we have been living in the shadow of the Enemy while you crossed the Ice. I am not trying to make light of your journey, but only point out that we have thirty years longer to experience this land. More than once Avari escaped from the Enemy's fortress only to die shortly afterwards. This defilement was always the cause.

So I can share your burden, and you didn't have to break Maitimo's trust. I am wounded to know even this hurt fell upon my brother, and I am more anxious to see him, so that I may show him how much I care and watch him heal.

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

I am ashamed now, for letting you figure it out so easily. You do not need to know the details. Just know that I am sorry for letting you know and for, even accidently, betraying Maitimo's trust.

Now that he is confided in me, he is doing better. I think my support has helped him, and he smiles more. He is asking questions about you, and your brothers. I think he wishes to return to you. He doesn't blame you for leaving him, or at least I don't think he does. It's hard to tell sometimes. Anyway, he wants to be back with his brothers, and I can't blame him for that.

His handwriting is better, and they let him stretch his legs now that the casts are off (replaced with bandages so thick that he complains that they are hardly better, of course).

I am cheered slightly that this report to you is so uplifting, especially in light of the last letter. Hopefully they will continue in this trend.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

It is I who dwells on his suffering now, I am afraid. I long for his return, not a small part because I am tired of the Kingship, doubly so now that I know I will not have to keep it. A cruel thing to thrust upon him so soon, when he is still healing, but I was never made for this.

I am not asking for your sympathy. That would be foolish, not because I do not expect it, but because I do not deserve it. I am only telling you this because I have no one else to tell.

Macalaurë

* * *

Macalaurë,

He is asking to go home, cousin. The healers do not think he is quite ready, so there may be a little delay, but with my message comes another one informing you of his request a little more diplomatically.

It scares me, this request. He scares me. This is a fire in his eyes I have never seen the like of before, hard as steel and unbendable not only to the Enemy but to us as well.

And yet...he has a plan, and even as he screams himself awake at night, even is his hand shakes as he tried to feed himself, I trust him. I don't know our future, but with Maitimo as our King, I worry a little less. Moringotto tried to ruin him, and he nearly did, but he didn't succeed. In the end he only managed to harden him and make him stronger than all of us.

I will never be thankful for what happened to him, but I can be thankful for him. It is not every person who could go through what he did and come out stronger.

Findekáno

* * *

Findekáno,

Your ability to see the bright side of things never ceases to amaze me. Your words have heartened me, and I await for the day the healers let him travel impatiently. I long to see him, to view his haggard face and maimed hand for myself.

Thank you for putting your hatred of us aside enough to talk to me. When he comes back I expect we will no longer need this correspondence. Believe it or not, I will miss it (although, I must admit, having my brother back will be more than enough to make up for it).

I began these letters with profuse thanks, and it seems I will end them the same way. Thank you, Findekáno the Valiant.

Macalaurë

* * *

Stupid Cousin,

I never hated you. I was always extremely angry for a rightful reason. I still am. Some part of me may always be. But that does not mean we are not still cousins and that I do not love you. Understand, stupid cousin?

As of today, he is healthy enough to travel. The goodbye will not be easy for me, I admit, although the pain is lessened by knowing he'll be safe in your hands.

Do not think that because he is getting better that you will meet a hale and healthy Russandol. You will not. It will be along time before any of us do. He will be shockingly thin and pale, and at night he will cry out. Horror that we cannot imagine will plague him, and you may wonder how he can ever overcome it. Do not expect anything other than this.

But do not despair, either! He is coming back to you, and he will be healthy in time.

It is my turn to thank you; without your letters, I would not have known where to go when Russandol was in pain. So thank you.

Your exceedingly valiant cousin,

Findekáno


End file.
